


A Little Less Sixteen Candles

by pippen2112



Series: RvB High School Stories [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Boundaries, Coach Wash, M/M, No Sex, Student Tucker, Teacher-Student Relationship, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 07:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11352438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: Wash is ready to go home; too bad there's still a student in the locker room





	A Little Less Sixteen Candles

**Author's Note:**

> No hanky panky happens, much to Tucker's chagrin.

An hour after swim practice wraps up for the day, Wash trudges past the locker rooms, doing final checks before he heads home to his sad little studio apartment. Honestly, it should be impossible for a 700 square foot loft to feel so small and empty.  But it's not like he has much.  Between working part time coaching at the high school and working on his master's degree, he doesn't have much time or energy left for hobbies.  Maybe he should just give in a get a cat.  God, that's the most depressing thing he's thought all week.

When he reaches the boys locker room, Wash hears the showers still running.  Groaning, he thumps his head against the wall.  Dumb teenagers can't be assed to turn off the tap when their done rinsing off after practice.  Now he has to go grab his flipflops which means tracking all the way back to Coach Flower's office.  Well, it's his office now since Flowers decided to elope with his fiancé and leave Wash in charge of the school's swim teams.  Wash, who's only an assistant teacher, who's interest in athletics only extends as far as it will get him some teaching experience while he finishes up his degree.  Fuck, he cannot wait for this fuckin' fuckfest of a year to end.

Wash drops his backpack down outside the boy's locker room and kicks off his tennis shoes and socks before slipping into his sandals and braving the locker room.  It smells like mildew and ass, which surprised absolutely no one but disgusts him just the same.  A few more weeks, and he'll never have to deal with this shit again.  No more cleaning up after hormone-drenched teenagers.  No more tiptoeing through slick and slimy locker rooms to turn off showers left running.  Never again.

Steam fogs up the communal showers, but when Wash reaches the threshold, he sees someone pressed into the corner, back to the doorway, forehead tipped against the wall.  Wash squints, trying to make out the interloper before a low, rich moan rings through the shower.  Spine snapping stiff and gut coiling hotly, Wash gapes.  That's not the sound of relief as sore muscles unknit under a stream of scalding water; no, that's a sharp cry of desperation.

Wash ducks back from the showers, wracking his brains for who he could've just walked in on.  He could've sworn he saw all the swimmers file out before he went back to his office to grab his gear and lock up for the night.  He files through the team roster, checking off names until he reaches the end and groans.  _Oh no, no, don't let it be--_

A whimper this time, high and needy and shit, Wash should not be listening to this right now.  This is so many types of bad.  He needs to stop this.  Now.

"Hello?" Wash calls, pretending he's only just opened the door.  "Is anyone in here?"

There's a sharp breath from the showers, then a carefully calm voice answers.  "Hey Coach Wash, just me."

Wash winces.  Tucker.  Of course it's Lavernius bane-of-Wash's-existence Tucker.  Of course it has to be that one student that reminds Wash of his college boyfriend except bolder, cruder, and with a much better ass.  _Christ, get your head out of the gutter, Wash.  Kid's not even legal_.  Fuckity fuck.  Wash holds his head in his hands.  "Tucker, practice ended forty five minutes ago.  You're still not done in there?"

"If you gotta hurry me along, I could always use a hand."

Wash's gut clenches.  He sighs into his hands.  _It's bad enough he's my student and so goddamn attractive.  Does he have to be such an unrepentant flirt?_   "Tucker," Wash says through gritted teeth, forcing himself to sound stern.

"I mean, it's pretty hot and slippery in here.  And so tight..."

....Tight... in a currently empty communal shower....  And of course, Wash's stupid penis decides that now is a perfect, flawless, absolutely stellar time to wake the fuck up and get interested in some kid's dirty promises.  _Traitor._

"Tucker," Wash begins again, curling his hands into fists at his sides.  "I am leaving.  Now.  If you aren't out the south exit in ten minutes, you will be spending the night here."

"What the fuck?" Tucker shrieks, racing to the threshold of the showers before Wash can even turn on heel to leave.  Every naked inch of him.  Wash keeps his gaze very pointedly above Tucker's collar, but that just gives him front row seats to the look of hurt pulling across Tucker's eyes.  "Seriously?  You're not.... You don't want...."

Wash sighs.  He needs to nip this in the bud, right the fuck now.  Sure, he's interested.  In any other circumstance, he'd love to sink to his knees and turn Tucker's very limited world view on its head, but Wash is old enough to know a bad idea when it's staring him in the face and all but begging.  And this is just...not happening.

"Jesus Christ, Tucker.  Grab a towel."

But Tucker doesn't so much as flinch.  He stares up at Wash, his eyes narrowing.  "What the fuck, coach?  I've seen the way you look at me."

"The way I look at you?"

Tucker nods.  "Yeah, dudes have gotten restraining orders off of less."

Really?  Wash flushes.  He could blame it on the humidity in the locker room, but even he wouldn't believe it.  He ducks his head.

"Dude, don't look like I kicked your puppy," Tucker goes on.  "I'm hot. If you didn't look at me like a meal up for grabs, I'd be insulted.  But I mean, if you want it and I want it, then why--"

"That's irrelevant," Wash cuts in, because he does not need to hear another word about what Tucker does or doesn't want.  He does not.  "It's inappropriate.  All of this is wildly wrong.  You might think this is something you want, but like it or not, you're still a kid, and I'm an authority figure.  There's no way of rationalizing any of this into being acceptable."

"I'm not trying to rationalize anything.  I'm just..." Tucker trails off, his shoulders slumping, the aggressions sliding off him like water leaving only hurt in its wake.  It's so much worse.  Wash can deal with anger any day of the week, but hurt is so far outside his wheelhouse.  "I get it," he says quietly.  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't've asked.  I just, I think you're pretty cool even if your drills are brutal and you're probably the most boring person I've met, and that includes Simmons who'd rather study for math class than pick up chicks.  And I dunno how to handle any of it."

Fuck if Wash's heart doesn't melt a little at Tucker's pout.  A not-inconsiderable part of him wishes he could just march into Tucker's space and kiss away that frown, but Wash shuts it down with a sigh.  As Tucker shuffles off to turn off the showerhead and grab a towel, Wash wanders over to the locker room door, wringing his hands in debate.  Yeah, he's Tucker's teacher, and nothing about this situation is right, but he remembers what it's like being seventeen and so full of hormones he didn't know which end was up.  He remembers exactly how much growing up can suck. 

As Tucker mucks his way through getting dressed, Wash says, "The summer before my sophomore year of high school, I worked at a summer camp, and I got assigned to work with one of the more senior counselors.  I'd seen him off and on over the years, first as an older camper and then as a counselor.  He was a good guy.  Intimidating as a grizzly until you got him talking about comics.  Even then, he didn't say much, but he had a way about him.  You felt safe around him.  By the end of that summer, we were really close.  I even came out to him, said I'd had a crush on him for ages by that point.  But he just hugged me and thanked me for trusting him enough to say something.  Said he was sorry but he didn't feel that way about me."

"Oh shit," Tucker mutters from across the rows of lockers. 

Wash chuckles under his breath.  "Yeah, it was not my finest moment.  I don't know what I expected.  I was fifteen and stupid, and he was already a junior in college.  Looking back on it, I'm glad.  Sure I was crushed, but by the next summer, we were partnered up again and back to being friends.  Still are, in fact."

"That's all well and good, Wash, but that doesn't make me feel any less shitty right now."

Shaking his head, Wash goes on.  "Tucker, I'm nine years older than you.  Maybe right now you're just trying to figure things out, but by the time you get to be my age, this'll just be a footnote on your life story.  You probably won't even remember my name."

Tucker scoffs, slinging on his backpack as he rounds the corner, thankfully fully clothed.  "Yeah right. Who spends ten minutes around you and doesn't devote half their memory to you?"

 _You'd be surprised._ But Tucker still looks down, and Wash, stupid Wash, can't bring himself to let Tucker leave with his spirits so low.  So instead of focusing on his meager woes, Wash bumps open the door and holds it open for Tucker.  "Oh really?"

"Hey, don't go doubting," Tucker says. "You've got a special place in my heart. And in my spank bank."

 _And we're back to inappropriate._ Wash shakes his head, hiding his grin.  "Okay, then.  Prove it."

Tucker's jaw drops half a second before his brow wrinkles in confusion.  "...wait...what?"

Was grabs his bag and his shoes, all the while fighting a smirk.  Finally he's not the one reacting like a teenager.  Halle-fuckin-lujah.  "If you're serious about it, if you want me to take you seriously, stop acting like I'm one of your buddies.  Get through the rest of your senior year, move on with your life, and maybe look me up when you're older.  Who knows, maybe I'll buy you a drink."

"Seriously?"

"Sure," Wash grins over his shoulder.  "When you're old enough to drink it."

It takes point-two seconds for Tucker's excitement to give way to the grim realization that Wash isn't talking weeks but years down the line.  Wash laughs at the image all the way home.  Yeah, he really doesn't expect Tucker's behavior to change in the slightest.  He expects practice tomorrow will be filled with more of the same disrespectful taunting and teasing and Wash will drag himself home knowing there's no changing some people; some people you just have to give up on. 

But who knows.  Maybe Tucker will prove him wrong. Doesn't mean he'll hang all his hopes on it, but it's a nice thought at least. ~~~~


End file.
